Phoebe's POV
Another gust of wind swept past, making the leader shiver without warning. I could feel his rising panic as my bright eyes locked onto his, keeping my voice sweet but ice-cold. "You destroyed my fish rack."
The leader stared back into my completely empty gaze.
Somehow, whatever threat he'd been ready to spit out got stuck in his throat, and instead he stammered, "We'll cook it for you."
A while passed, and the dead coals blazed red once more.
Fresh fish, water still streaming off them, took the place of the dirt-covered ones they'd kicked into the dust.
Following their leader's orders, his crew moved with surprising efficiency—catching fish, cleaning them, threading the fresh pieces onto skewers over the flames, adding seasoning with skilled hands. Their survival skills even had them collecting wild berries, sweet as sugar, plus tender greens for side dishes.
